The lantern trembled in Aria's hands, its golden flame quivering like a caged bird. Shadows curled along the slick stone walls, writhing with every flicker of light. The air smelled damp and earthy, with that faint metallic bite of rusted iron lingering from the old drains. Each breath she drew felt heavy, thick with chill, sinking into her bones and refusing to let go.
Her heart wouldn't slow. Not since she had pried open the grate beneath the west wall. Not since she had slipped into this narrow, forgotten passage where the Academy's secrets had been left to rot. Every step echoed faintly, mocking her in the silence that had not known footsteps for decades.
The lantern's glow painted the walls with long, distorted shapes. Shapes that seemed almost alive, curling toward her as if the darkness itself wanted to swallow her whole.
A figure emerged from deeper shadow, moving without a sound.
Cassian.
He stepped forward like he belonged to the darkness, calm and composed. His robes were immaculate despite the damp chill, golden hair catching the lantern's light like molten metal. There was no scowl, no anger—only that unnerving, perfect composure, as though this meeting had been scripted centuries ago and she was merely an actor playing her part.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, smooth, polished, his voice sliding through the tunnel like liquid steel.
Aria froze. The lantern's warmth did nothing against the cold that gripped her chest. Her throat tightened, searching desperately for words, for excuses, for lies, anything to turn his gaze. But she knew him. He already understood why she was here.
"I was only—" she began, forcing her voice to stay steady despite the tremor.
"Searching," he finished for her, stepping closer. Boots silent against stone, shadows clinging to him like they feared to let him go. "Digging through dust for secrets you shouldn't touch. Dangerous, don't you think?"
Aria's hands tightened around the lantern, knuckles whitening. "What do you want?"
Cassian tilted his head, watching her with the same unnerving calm, eyes sharp enough to pierce through stone.
"What I have always wanted," he said softly, almost conversationally. "Order. Balance. The Academy's survival. And you, Aria, wandering drains like a reckless shadow, threaten all of it."
Her stomach twisted. Every word cut sharper than she expected.
"I threaten nothing. I only—"
"You only seek him," he interrupted, voice deliberate, precise. "Vale."
The name struck her chest like a hammer. Few dared speak it aloud now. Cassian said it slowly, savoring the reaction, pressing each syllable into her ribs.
"You still cling to him," he murmured, watching her flinch. "Even after all you've seen. Even after the Council's judgment. Why?"
Aria drew a shaky breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
"Because he is not what you say he is."
Cassian chuckled softly, a sound without warmth, without mercy. "And what is he then? A friend? A boy misled? Or something more?" His smile sharpened, thin as a knife. "Do not mistake what you feel for truth. Attachment blinds. And blindness is death."
She drew in a long, trembling inhale. "Better to be blind than to see only what they tell you."
For a fraction of a heartbeat, his smile faltered. She glimpsed something colder than mockery in his narrowed eyes—something calculating, dangerous.
"You think you resist them," he said, voice low, smooth, almost hypnotic, "but you resist the wrong hand."
Aria's brow furrowed. Pulse hammering against her throat. "What do you mean?"
Cassian stepped closer, the darkness swallowing his form until only his face, sharp and glinting in the lantern light, remained visible.
"The Council believes they can bind him, twist whatever festers inside Vale into a tool for their ends. But they are fools. They lack the will. I do not."
Her stomach churned. "You mean in your hands."
His smile returned, thinner, sharper, almost serpentine. "Yes. I would shape him into what he was meant to be. Not chained in some pit, not gnawed at by doubt, but unleashed. Shadows bent to our will. Enemies scattered. The Academy transformed from a cage into a throne."
Her pulse thundered. "You're mad."
"Am I?" he murmured, stepping closer. Eyes glinting in the flickering lantern light. "Or are you simply afraid to admit you feel the same pull? You would not be here otherwise. You would not risk everything for him if some part of you did not believe he is worth more than they claim."
Aria's back pressed against the cold stone, lantern trembling. "I came because he is alone. Because he needs someone who remembers he is human."
Cassian's expression flickered into something almost disdainful. "How quaint," he said softly. "Human. That word will not save him. Nor will it save you."
His hand shot out like a striking serpent, cold as iron, fingers closing around her wrist. Not painfully, but enough to make her pulse leap.
"Listen to me, Aria," he whispered, low, urgent. "You have a choice. Stand with me, and you will share in what comes. Stand against me, and when the Council decides you are too close to him, you will follow Vale into the dark. Forgotten. Broken."
Her breath hitched. The faint trace of incense on his robes stung her nose. The weight of his certainty pressed down on her chest, suffocating, relentless.
Then anger flared, hot and fierce. She yanked free, lantern swinging wildly, casting jagged shadows along the tunnel walls.
"I will never stand with you," she spat, trembling but defiant. "If you truly believe power is all that matters, then you are already lost."
Cassian's smile froze, replaced by a shadow colder than mockery. For a heartbeat, the tunnel seemed to hold its breath.
"Then so be it," he murmured, retreating into the shadows as though swallowed whole. His voice lingered, soft and silken, haunting:
"But remember, Aria. I am not the one you should fear. When Vale finally breaks, when what lives inside him steps forth, your hope will be the first thing it devours."
Alone, Aria's lantern flickered violently. Her hands trembled, but determination coiled in her chest like steel. The Council could not be trusted. Cassian would not protect him. If Erevan was to survive, it would fall to her.
She drew a shuddering breath, lifted the lantern higher, and stepped forward, deeper into the maze of shadows and wards. Each heartbeat echoed a promise and a threat.
The Lower Ward awaited. And so did Erevan.
Cassian's gaze held hers, sharp as a blade, unyielding. The shadows around him seemed to shift with every subtle movement, curling and stretching as though aware of her heartbeat.
"You think you understand him," he said softly, almost conspiratorial, voice sliding over her nerves. "But you don't. Not fully. Not the way I do."
Aria's chest tightened. Every instinct screamed at her to pull back, to flee, to let fear guide her—but she couldn't. Not now. Not when he was down there, alone.
"He's not yours to control," she said, voice low but steady, forcing the words past the tremor that tried to shake them free. "Nor yours to command. He's human. And he deserves someone who remembers that."
Cassian chuckled, a sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Human. Such a fragile, overrated concept. And yet, it blinds you. You risk everything for this... sentiment. Admirable. Foolish. Both."
Aria's grip on the lantern tightened until her knuckles ached. He doesn't understand. He hasn't seen what I've seen. He hasn't felt what I've felt. "You don't understand him," she snapped. "And you never will. He is not a tool. He is not a weapon. He is a person. And I will remind him of that."
A faint smile tugged at Cassian's lips, thin and sharp. "And yet here you are, skulking through drains, crawling through stone, defying the Council, defying me. Tell me, Aria, why risk so much for someone you cannot even save?"
Her jaw clenched. I will save him. I have to. The words pressed against her ribs, heavy with desperation and resolve. "Because someone has to," she whispered, almost to herself, almost as a prayer.
Cassian stepped closer, the shadows swallowing him again. His voice dropped, smooth and dangerous, a predator circling prey. "And what if I offered a different path? Stand with me, and we could ensure he is not just alive, but powerful. Free of weakness. Free of fear. You would have him whole."
Her stomach twisted. Power. Control. The very things she despised, the things she had sworn to resist. But he spoke with certainty, and certainty was a seductive thing. She shook her head, a trembling laugh escaping her lips. "You don't get it. That's not freedom. That's a cage gilded with lies."
Cassian's eyes gleamed in the flickering lantern light, cold and unyielding. "Freedom? You know nothing of freedom. You cling to sentimentality because it is safe. Because it doesn't demand choice. Because it doesn't ask you to wield power and bear the consequences. You seek to protect him, but protection alone will not save him. Only strength does."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. No. Not that. Not like this. She forced herself to inhale, to steady her shaking hands. "Strength without humanity is nothing. He is not theirs to break, and he is not yours to shape."
Cassian's thin smile returned, serpentine, unnerving. "Ah, but you would risk everything for him. You are drawn to him, Aria, whether you admit it or not. That is why you are here. That is why you crawl through shadows and ignore the Council. You are human enough to act on feeling, but not so human as to see that feeling can be harnessed."
Her chest tightened. I am not afraid of him. I will not let him corrupt what little hope remains. "You underestimate me," she hissed, stepping back. "I am not here for power. I am not here for control. I am here for him. And I will not let anyone—no, no one—twist him into something he is not."
Cassian leaned slightly closer, eyes narrowing, calculating every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. "Then you will walk blindly. You will follow him into darkness, risking everything, and you will be alone when it devours him. And perhaps when it devours you as well."
Her stomach churned, but the fire inside her only grew. Every syllable of his warning hardened her resolve. He is not theirs. I will not fail him. She lifted the lantern higher, letting the flickering glow bathe her in light. Shadows recoiled from it, as though aware of her defiance.
"I choose him," she said, voice strong now, though it shook with the weight of fear and determination. "Not them. Not you. Not your power, your lies, your cages. I choose him. Always him."
For a heartbeat, Cassian's expression flickered, something unreadable passing over his features. Then the shadow returned, curling around him like a living thing.
"Very well," he murmured, soft, silk and venom intertwined. "Then so be it. But remember this, Aria: hope is fragile. And when it dies… it will take you with it."
He retreated, swallowed by the shadows, leaving her alone in the tunnel. The cold pressed in from all sides, the wards thrummed beneath her fingertips, a pulse she could feel in her chest. Fear clawed at her, sharp and relentless, but beneath it, determination solidified into something unbreakable.
The Lower Ward awaited. And so did Erevan.
Alone again, Aria let herself exhale, though it came in a shuddering rush that left her lungs aching. The chill of the tunnel seemed sharper now, pressing into her skin, curling in her hair, seeping into her bones. But fear no longer ruled her. Not entirely. Somewhere beneath the cold, beneath the echo of Cassian's words, a fire had been lit.
I choose him. I will not let him be broken. I will not let them win.
She tightened her grip on the lantern. The flame flickered, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed almost alive, coiling along the walls as if the tunnel itself had paused to watch her. Every step forward carried a whisper of ancient stone beneath her fingers, the grooves and cracks telling stories of centuries, of secrets buried deep and forbidden.
The passage narrowed, forcing her to stoop, dragging the lantern ahead like a talisman against the darkness. Dampness clung to her cloak, cold water tracing the lines of her spine. The smell of mildew and rust hung thick, mingled with something metallic, something that hummed faintly beneath the stone. It was the wards.
Alive. Watching. Waiting.
Aria's fingers brushed along the carved sigils, feeling the vibrations pulse through her palms like a heartbeat not her own. Each symbol resonated differently, a silent language of magic and intent. Some thrummed with restraint, others with suppressed power, and beneath them all, faint, coiled like a snake ready to strike, she felt him—Erevan.
Her breath hitched. A shiver ran down her spine, but she forced herself to steady each step. She had rehearsed this path in her mind a hundred times, yet reality surpassed every imagination. The wards weren't merely obstacles; they were sentinels, ancient and patient, responding to her resolve, probing for weakness.
Stay calm. Stay focused. He is waiting. You cannot fail him now.
She inched forward, each movement deliberate. Dust rose in thin clouds around her boots, motes dancing in the lantern's quivering light. Her chest tightened, heart hammering so violently it seemed it might echo against the stone walls. Every drip of water, every distant scrape, every whisper of air felt amplified, as if the Lower Ward itself was aware of her intrusion.
The tunnel opened slightly, revealing a rusted grate, old but formidable. She knelt, hands trembling as she worked at the corroded metal. A gust of stale air met her face, smelling of wet stone and something faintly electric, the magic thrumming like a chord inside her chest.
She pushed, crawled, slid through the narrow opening, dragging the lantern with her. The air was colder here, heavier, pressing against her like the weight of all the secrets the Academy had buried. Every inch was a test of will, every scrape of her elbows a reminder of the stakes.
And then she felt it, more than heard it—the pulse beneath the stone, low and insistent, echoing in her chest. Not footsteps. Not machinery. Not guards. Something alive, restrained, aware of her approach. Erevan.
Her fingers clutched the lantern tighter. He is alive. He is here. And I will find him.
The passage widened, the walls bending slightly as if breathing around her, the hum of the wards growing louder, denser, almost sentient. Her ears picked up the rhythm beneath it all, a subtle, restrained beat that mirrored a heartbeat not her own. She paused, letting herself feel it, letting her senses stretch into the stone, into the wards, into the silent cage that held him.
A whisper of movement made her freeze. Nothing visible. Just the weight of anticipation. Every nerve screamed: he is close. Very close.
Aria pressed her palms against the cold stone, feeling the grooves and sigils beneath her fingers, tracing their lines as if she could memorize them by touch. The wards responded, tiny vibrations skimming across her skin. Some recoiled at her presence; some hummed in recognition. She whispered, almost to herself, "I am coming for you. Hold on."
The tunnel opened into a vast chamber, larger than she had imagined, walls alive with intricate wards that spiraled outward in perfect geometry. Circles of glowing sigils pulsed faintly, humming in sync with the restrained power trapped within. This was no mere cell. It was a fortress of intention, magic, and fear.
Aria's heart thundered. She crouched, letting the lantern light dance across the patterns, tracing the weak threads she might exploit. Her pulse quickened with anticipation, with dread, with the weight of knowing the moment of reunion was close.
He is here. He is waiting. And I cannot fail him.
A faint, almost imperceptible shift in the shadows brushed her shoulder. Her breath caught. Not Cassian. Not the Council. Him. A flicker of hope ignited alongside fear. Every sense screamed, every nerve alive with the tension of what lay ahead.
She lifted the lantern higher, light slicing through the darkness, revealing the faint shimmer of wards, the depth of the chamber, the heavy air vibrating with power. Her resolve hardened. She had come this far, faced Cassian's manipulations, traversed the shadows, and now she would see him.
Each step carried her deeper into the Lower Ward, and the pulse beneath the stone seemed to grow stronger, reacting to her courage, her determination, her unflinching hope.
Ahead, she sensed it—the chamber beyond, vast and echoing, suffused with restrained power, alive in ways that made her pulse quicken and her stomach twist. Erevan was here. And something else stirred in the darkness, something ancient and patient, watching her approach.
Aria inhaled, letting the chill fill her lungs, letting her fear sharpen her senses. The wards hummed louder now, responding to her presence, to her resolve, to the steadfast beat of her heart.
She pressed forward, step by careful step, lantern held high. Shadows recoiled from its glow, and every echo whispered of secrets buried long ago, of danger, of the moment she would finally come face to face with him.
The Lower Ward awaited. Erevan waited. And Aria would not turn back.